Ironclad
by Wyrmseeker
Summary: Oswin stood resolute, a bastion of strength for all those who needed him, commanders and comrades alike. Secret Santa gift fic for Marius Sidorov.


Oswin stood resolute, taking a defensive stance as the horseman charged. His attacker swung a blade in the air, let out a roar, and slashed down towards the armored knight. All Oswin did was step out of the way. The horseman hadn't expected him to move so quickly under the weight of all that armor, but after years of training, Oswin was surprisingly swift in spite of it.

As the horse swept by him, Oswin made sure he had a firm grip on the head of his lance, and swung the butt around into the stomach of the rider. Metal rang on metal as the shock spread through Oswin's hands, but he kept his grip even as the rider lost his. The man fell as his horse sped on; whatever wind he had left in him after being struck by the lance was forced out as he hit the ground.

Oswin did not pursue his advantage, instead letting his adversary rise to his feet and lift his sword again before the old knight moved to strike. His foe was swifter than he by far, and swung his blade as he lunged forward with astonishing speed, once more letting out a roaring battle cry. But this time Oswin did not even bother dodging; he could tell by the arc of the blade what was going to happen. By the time the sword rang useless against his armor, its wielder nearly dropping the blade, Oswin had already drawn back his lance. Before his opponent could even think of dodging, he struck.

With his opponent taken care of, Oswin turned around. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Matthew looked over at him, ignoring the corpse at his own feet. Where Oswin's foe bore a single lance mark, this one had many small cuts over his body. Matthew was not strong, but he was so fast he didn't really need to be. Still, he'd have been in trouble caught between the axefighter now at his feet and the swordsman Oswin had dispatched. The knight had saved him, and they both knew it.

"I'm fine," Matthew responded, sheathing his reddened blade. "Just took a little longer to take him down than I thought." He glanced at the horseman. "I suppose I owe you one."

Oswin didn't respond, simply turning to leave. There were more enemies to deal with before they could consider the battle won.

"You had him on the ground," Matthew called as the knight walked away. "You should have finished him off then, instead of letting him get back up."

Oswin ignored the statement. It was an understandable thing for a spy to say; Matthew dealt in subterfuge, stealth, and thievery, and it did not pay to be honorable in that line of work. But Oswin served House Ostia in a very different way. It was an unpleasant business, but a necessary one. He was here in the service of Lord Hector, after all, under direct orders from Lord Uther, head of house Ostia, to keep an eye on his younger brother, and these attackers posed a threat to the wayward lordling and his companions. Therefore, it was the knight's duty to fight them off to the best of his abilities. And he was fulfilling those duties remarkably well.

These thoughts comforted him as he walked away from Matthew and the two corpses. He hoped he'd have a chance to clean his bloodied lance soon.

* * *

Oswin stood resolute, the cool of the night air chilling his armor as he stood at the edge of the camp, his eyes scanning the dark beyond the small circle illuminated by the campfire. His legs were only now beginning to tire, and he thought he might sit down by the fire for a while as he continued to stand watch. But for now, he was content to remain on his feet, lance at his side, ready to respond to any threat that presented itself.

A noise from behind him. It was coming from the direction of the camp, so it was unlikely to be an attacker, unless one had somehow managed to slip between him and the other sentries. He turned anyway, though, to face the source of the noise. He nodded. "Good evening, milady. I didn't expect to see you out here this late."

"Nor should you," Priscilla sighed as she made her way toward the fire. "But I found I couldn't sleep."

Oswin's expression didn't change, but his voice had a sympathetic tone when he spoke. "Allow me to apologize again, Lady Priscilla. What I told you the other day clearly disturbed you."

"No." She spoke quickly, then paused. "Well… yes, I suppose it did. How could it not, after all? It's… not an easy thing to hear about one's parents."

"It's not an easy thing to hear about anyone."

"No, it's not. I suppose I should be thankful I still have my brother…"

The way she trailed off made it clear she'd intended to say more, but thought better of it. Oswin let it go. It wasn't his place to pry.

"I apologize for his behavior," she said after a while. "It's surprising how focused he's become on his goal of revenge."

Revenge against Oswin's liege, no less. Raven had tried to be subtle about it, but at the same time, he could not hide the hatred in his eyes whenever Hector was nearby. The knight made a point of keeping himself between the two whenever he could, although he feared he wouldn't be able to protect the lordling forever. But despite all the time he'd been in their group, Raven had yet to make his move, something for which Oswin was grateful.

He decided to give voice to his thoughts. "You seem to have done an admirable job of guiding him, milady. You've prevented him from actually taking his revenge thus far."

"Thus far," Priscilla echoed. "I just hope someday, he'll be the same man he was when we were young."

"He was not a man then," Oswin reminded her. "He was just a boy."

"…Yes. He was."

She sat in silence, warming herself by the fire. After a long minute, she rose. "Thank you for indulging me, Sir Oswin," she said. "I'd best try to get some sleep now."

The knight nodded. "Good night, Lady Priscilla."

"Good night, Sir Oswin."

* * *

Oswin stood resolute, his eyes fixed firmly level, aimed several feet above the head of the seated Hector. The Ostian lordling—a title that soon would no longer apply—was seated quietly. He'd been putting on a strong face for the others, as he'd told Oswin he would. "Eliwood's been through at least as much as I," Hector had said. "It wouldn't do to put my problems above his."

Oswin understood his reasoning, as well as his loyalty to his friend. But when one's "problems" involved the loss of one's brother—and, subsequently, the realization that one would now need to become ruler in his stead—Oswin felt that one was entitled to grieve.

That was what Hector was doing now, in his own way. He was trying to be his usual jovial self around the others, especially Lord Eliwood and Lady Lyndis. But here, in private, away from prying eyes… he didn't seem to know how to act. He hadn't broken down crying, nor did Oswin expect him to. But he wasn't simply ignoring his pain, either, throwing himself into work to try and distract himself from his grief as others might. He simply sat in silence, contemplating empty space, not speaking a word. Oswin wasn't sure if his lord even knew he was there, but he stood guard, as per his duty, regardless.

Hector shifted. "Maybe I should find someone else," he muttered. "I may be Uther's heir, strictly speaking, but there must be some way someone else could succeed him. The Lycian League would be happier with someone more… _suited_ to lead."

Oswin wasn't sure how wise it was to speak, but he did so anyway. "It might make some people happy, but it would certainly not make Lord Uther happy, were he here."

"But he's _not_ here, Oswin."

"Which is why I feel it important to honor his wishes—including his wish that you take his place as Marquess Ostia."

Hector opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. For all he and his brother had bickered while Uther was still alive, they still loved each other, and Hector would not so brazenly defy his brother's will—especially his dying wish.

"Your brother had some… _unconventional_ views for an aristocrat," Oswin reminded him. "He upheld House Ostia's disdain for excess more openly than many would dare. This made him many enemies among the Lycian aristocracy. Would you really be willing to hand Ostia over to those same people?"

"Not all the Lycian lords think that way," Hector countered. "I can't think of anyone more opposed to excess than Lyn." He paused for a moment. "She'd make a fine Marquess Ostia…"

Oswin resisted the urge to laugh. "Lady Lyndis has had a hard enough time adjusting to her life in Caelin," he replied. "Do you really think she'd be willing to take the reins of Ostia, the heart of the Lycian League?"

"Of course not," Hector said quickly. "It was just idle speculation." He paused again. "Now Eliwood, on the other hand…"

"Don't you think he's busy enough with Pherae in the wake of his father's death?"

"I suppose so… but maybe in a few years after he's gotten his affairs in order, I could cede Ostia to him as well."

Oswin shook his head. "That would not be wise."

"Why not? Eliwood's a fine leader as it is. He's lead us to victory countless times now, in spite of everything he's been through."

"_You've_ been through just as much," Oswin said.

"That's a lie. I lost my brother, true, but Eliwood's father died in his arms. And Ninian…"

"And you've been there every step of the way, haven't you? Lending him your support, asking for none in return."

"And that makes me praiseworthy?"

"It makes you unselfish. An important quality in a leader, and one you possess in at least as much quantity as Eliwood or Lyndis."

Hector looked away. "It takes a lot more than that to lead," he said after a long pause.

"I think you'll find you're not as lacking in those qualities as you think," Oswin said. "Besides, Eliwood's never been one to allow you to shirk your duty. Do you really think he'd do so now?"

Hector couldn't help but smile. "I suppose, if he wasn't willing to get me out of my studies when we were children, he won't be willing to get me out of this, either."

They were silent for a time after that. Oswin could tell that his liege remained unconvinced. Hector had never been comfortable with the more political affairs of state, always leaving that sort of thing up to his brother; the idea of taking on responsibility for all of Ostia, and by extension, the entire Lycian League, must have been overwhelming. It was little wonder he was looking for an alternative. But Oswin had been serving Hector for a long time before Eliwood's quest to find his father began, and what he saw was not the unintelligent, unreliable simpleton many made Hector out to be—including Hector himself. The young man was fiercely loyal, clever when he needed to be, intimidating without being brutish, and refreshingly straightforward for a noble. There was no denying he was rough around the edges, but he'd proven he could handle every challenge set before him thus far. Oswin was certain he'd grow to handle this one as well.

He believed in Lord Uther's judgment. But more so than that, he believed in Hector himself.

* * *

Oswin stood resolute, fully armed and armored, his lance and breastplate shining in the dimming light from all the polishing he'd given them. Wearing his full plate armor made it difficult to get around quietly, but he'd moved as silently as possible to take his current position in front of the tent. Neither its occupant nor her guest had asked him to come, and he didn't wish to alert them to his presence. But when he'd learned of their meeting, he'd decided his presence would be needed. And that he should look as stalwart as possible while he was there, too.

The tent was positioned at the bottom of a small hill; Oswin kept his eyes fixed on the crest. It took a long time, and he began to wonder if he'd been mistaken in his assumption. Just as he began to wonder if he should leave, though, a figure appeared at the top of the hill. It was dark by then, so the man did not see Oswin at first as he moved deliberately toward the tent. Soon, though, the gleam of the armor caught his eye, and he stopped short. Oswin saw the figure's hand moving towards the hilt of his sword, but he did not draw it yet.

"What are you doing here?" Raven asked.

"Waiting for you," the knight answered.

The red-headed swordsman regarded the ironclad soldier before him. "Are you going to fight me?"

"Not if I don't have to."

Raven relaxed his grip on his sword, but only a little. Oswin was a little surprised; the man did not appear to desire a battle any more than he did.

"I remember you," Raven said after a moment. "You were posted to House Cornwell once, weren't you?"

Oswin nodded. "That was a long time ago. I was transferred to Ostia while you were just a young boy. But I remember you, and your sister, from my time there. You were both so lively, and I was proud to be one of your protectors."

"And now you protect House Ostia."

"Yes."

Raven took a breath. "Let me in."

It was not a command.

"No," Oswin replied simply.

Raven's grip on his sword tightened. "Please. I need to see them."

"Hear what I have to say first."

Anger tugged at the corners of the mercenary's mouth, but he nodded.

"Lord Hector did not call on the lady of his own accord. She asked him to come."

"Whether it was his will or hers, I cannot simply stand by as he defiles my sister."

"I assure you, no defiling is taking place. Lady Priscilla heard about a recent tragedy in Lord Hector's life. As someone who's been through her own share of loss, she wished to offer him her condolences."

"And she bade him come to her tent to do so?"

"Evidently."

"Evidently?" Raven laughed. "Do you believe everything your lord tells you, knight?"

"No. But I believe that neither Lord Hector nor Lady Priscilla have aught but the most honorable intentions." He motioned to the tent. "Listen, if you will."

Raven fell silent; Oswin could tell he was listening, as he'd suggested. Nothing was coming from the tent but a pair of low voices, Hector's growling bass followed by the lighter tones of Priscilla. The words couldn't be made out from their position, but there were no sounds one would expect from a romantic midnight rendezvous.

"Whether they're talking or not, you must be aware that there's something forming between them," Raven said at last. "You've been around them both enough to see the way she looks at him."

"Curiosity," Oswin said simply. "She is wondering who this man is that her brother's so determined to kill."

Raven smirked. "So, you're not letting me in because you think I want to kill Hector?"

"Yes."

"What if I told you that I'd given up on that? That my dealings with Lucius, Priscilla, Fiora, Eliwood… even Hector himself… they've all shown me that my quest for revenge was naught but sound and fury. That my parents' death was an injustice, but not one caused by House Ostia."

Oswin cocked his head. He wondered if Priscilla had shared what he'd told her with her brother, that Lord and Lady Cornwell had taken their own lives. Regardless, there was sincerity in Raven's voice and expression. Oswin was not about to trust him alone with his lord, but perhaps…

"Will you let me in to talk to them?" Raven asked again.

Oswin hesitated before he spoke, something he rarely did. "I am not sure that's wise. You and Lord Hector are among the shortest-tempered of our group. Having you two in the same space, even if you're both amicable, could be dangerous." He smirked a little. "I'm just glad Dame Vaida has nothing to do with this, or the situation would be downright incendiary."

Seeing the mercenary's reaction to the joke reminded Oswin of why he told them so rarely. "Sorry," he muttered.

Raven bit his lip, then reached toward his sword. Oswin reflexively readied his lance, but rather than draw his weapon, the mercenary loosened the strap, and the blade fell, scabbard and all, to the ground. Oswin hid his surprise well.

"There," Raven said. "Unarmed and unarmored. _Now _will you let me in?"

Oswin met the mercenary's gaze directly. The man's eyes were sincere—at least, they appeared that way to the knight. Although he wouldn't go so far as to say Raven couldn't hurt Hector or Priscilla, the Ostian lord would at least be able to deal with him more easily without his weapon.

But…

"My charge is to protect," Oswin said slowly. "Now it is Lord Hector. A long time ago, it was Lady Priscilla. Now they are both together, and I will fulfill my duty to them both."

"I pose no threat to either of them."

"No physical threat, perhaps. But why else would you be here, if you did not wish to come between Lord Hector and your sister?"

Raven was silent for a moment. When he spoke, it sounded as if he was holding back tears. "I haven't been there for Priscilla for a very long time. I just want to be there for her now. You must protect your lord; I must protect my sister."

"I _trust_ my lord," Oswin countered. "I believe it's time you did the same for Lady Priscilla."

Raven didn't seem to have any response to that. He stood there, silent, staring at the knight. Oswin did the same, his eyes fixed on Raven. He no longer believed the red-headed mercenary would try to attack him, but he was still ready to defend himself if he did.

Oswin didn't realize he was holding his breath until the sound of the tent flap behind him prompted him to let out out. Raven looked up even as Oswin heard the confused voice speak. "Oswin? What are you doing here?"

The knight turned around to face his lord. "Apologies, Lord Hector. I was simply out for a walk, when I ran into Raven here." He indicated the mercenary with his lance.

Hector's gaze shifted to the red-haired youth, and his eyes widened upon seeing him. "You? Aren't you Priscilla's brother?"

Oswin could tell from Hector's expression that he also recognized Raven for another reason, but he didn't say anything about it.

"I am," Raven said. His eyes went from Hector to Oswin and back. "I came to visit my sister. I… didn't realize she had a guest."

"I was just leaving," Hector said quickly.

"So was I." Raven turned to go. "Good night, Lord Hector. Sir Oswin. I'll talk to my sister… later."

And he was gone.

Oswin looked up to Hector, and saw the Ostian lord relax a little. "I hope he didn't think I was doing anything untoward with his sister," Hector muttered. "That guy seems to hate me enough already."

"I think he may be coming around to you," Oswin replied honestly.

"Hope so," Hector sighed. He started back toward his own tent, his knight clanking along beside him.

"How did you find the Lady Priscilla?" Oswin asked.

"She seemed well. Awfully concerned about me, though. She asked me how I was feeling, whether there was anything I needed… I swear, she's more concerned about me than my brother was."

"Is that all you talked about?" Oswin asked, genuinely surprised. He'd been in there for some time.

Hector hesitated before answering. "…She told me about her family," he said. "All of it. Both House Caerleon, where she grew up… and House Cornwell, where she was born." He glanced at the knight. "She mentioned you'd been posted there when she was little. I guess that explains why I see you two talking so often."

Oswin simply nodded. "What did she say about her houses?"

"She told me about Cornwell. How her parents gave her up, and then…" he swallowed. "…disappeared after being censured."

Oswin didn't know whether or not Hector knew the truth. He resolved to tell him, someday. Now was obviously not the time.

"She also told me a bit about her brother," Hector sighed. "I guess I know why he was always staring daggers at me now. I hope he realizes Priscilla and I were just talking," he said, echoing his earlier sentiment. "I don't want to give him any more reason to hate me than he already has."

"I informed him of the nature of your visit," Oswin assured him. "And, as I said, I believe he's coming around to you."

Hector nodded. "Well," he continued, "Priscilla didn't say all that much, really. I guess… she just wanted to let me know I wasn't alone. That people are there for me if I need them."

Oswin smiled inwardly; it was as he'd hoped. "That was very kind of her," he said.

"I suppose," Hector mused. Oswin couldn't tell whether he was contemplating Lady Priscilla as a friend, or as something more. "I do have to wonder how she learned of my brother's death, though."

"The passing of the marquess of the head of the Lycian League is not an easy thing to hide."

"You hid it from me."

"Indeed," Oswin said, hiding a smile.

Hector looked at him suspiciously. "Oswin, you didn't…?"

Oswin fixed his gaze on his lord, his face impassive. "Didn't what, Lord Hector?"

"You didn't tell her that—look out, Oswin!"

The knight didn't have time to look forward before his foot caught on something protruding from the ground. He teetered, waving his arms in an uncharacteristically undignified manner, before he crashed to the ground, armor and all.

* * *

Oswin stood resolute, ignoring the clicking of Serra's tongue as she removed his armor. "You face down enemies every day and rarely get even a scratch," she said, "but falling down a hill warrants a visit to the healers' tent?"

"Lord Hector insisted," Oswin grunted, wincing as she brushed against a tender spot.

Once she'd gotten his armor off, she studied his body. "You've got a few cuts and bruises," she said. "Nothing too bad. But it would have been a lot better if you hadn't been wearing full armor. It may be good for stopping lances, but it's affected by gravity just as much as anything."

Oswin rolled his eyes. He was not in the mood for Serra's prattle.

"Why were you wearing all this, anyway?" Serra said as she pulled out some poultices. "You usually aren't in full armor for your watch."

"I was expecting trouble."

"What do you mean?"

Oswin didn't answer.

Serra set to work on his wounds. They weren't bad, but she still insisted on treating them before they got infected. Oswin had half-expected her to send him away, saying the wounds weren't worth interrupting her beauty sleep, but instead, he got to endure both the sting of the ointments and the inanity of Serra's dithering.

…Only there was no dithering. He was surprised to realize that she was being as quiet as he was. He glanced down at her, and was shocked to see her expression was contemplative. He hesitated, wondering if it was worth the risk to open a conversation with her. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him—another thing that rarely happened—and he spoke. "Is something on you mind?"

She paused in her work, and looked up at him. "I was hoping you'd tell me yourself," she said, "but to be honest, I already know why you were wearing armor."

His heart quickened. "Oh?"

"Lucius saw the whole thing, you know. He was as worried as you that Raven would do something drastic, so he followed him to Priscilla's tent, but hung back when he saw you were already there. Fully armored, wielding a lance… it was clear you intended to fight him."

"I _expected_ to fight him," Oswin corrected. "I'm quite glad I didn't have to."

"Me too," Serra sighed, "or I'd be treating a lot more than small cuts and bruises. On both of you," she added upon seeing Oswin's offended expression.

"I was simply protecting Lord Hector," Oswin grumbled. "It is my duty as a servant of Ostia. Yours too, in fact."

Serra rolled her eyes; Oswin had often lectured her on how seriously she took her duty. "I know, Oswin. You've always been there for House Ostia." She paused. "…But it goes even further than that with you."

"How do you mean?"

"It wasn't just Hector you were protecting. You offered support to Priscilla when she needed it, and Matthew told me how you saved his life a few weeks ago." She resumed her work. "Take off your shirt," she commanded.

Oswin complied. Best not to upset the woman responsible for healing you in battle. "Matthew and I were in battle together. Of course I saved his life."

"Of course," Serra agreed as she began treating the wounds on his chest. "That's the kind of person you are."

"That's not–"

"And then there's me."

Oswin blinked. "What about you?"

"I know I've called you mean, but… I know you're telling the truth when you say you only have my best interests at heart. You treat me more harshly than anyone else I've met… and yet, I can tell it's because you care about me."

"…Your point?"

"You're always helping people. Hector and Priscilla, Matthew and myself… you're always there to support us, whether or not we know we need your support. Our stalwart bastion. Our ironclad protector." She was applying a poultice to his chest, and her movements slowed as she spoke. "I'm just wondering… if you'll ever let someone do the same for you."

Her words surprised him so much, he almost didn't notice her hand lingering on his chest a moment longer than he was comfortable with. She, too, seemed to be suddenly aware of their contact, as she quickly withdrew, muttering an apology. "I'm done," she said. "You can go."

He did, putting his shirt back on and gathering up his discarded armor before hurrying out of the tent.

* * *

Oswin sat comfortably in the safety of his tent. His armor lay in a pile on the ground; it would take too long to put it all on if they were attacked in the night, but he could still grab the lance leaning against the pile and fight with light armor. Besides, he felt it unlikely they'd be attacked now. Nergal was waiting for them to come to him; he was unlikely to send more of his morphs after them unless they tarried too long.

These nights were the only time Oswin could be alone. Hector usually insisted on Oswin leaving during the night, and while Oswin was never one to shirk his duty, if he was going to be honest, he was glad to have some time to himself. He reached into his pack and retrieved a book he'd been intending to read for some time. He lit a candle and opened the book on his lap.

Then he stopped. The words sat before him, but they didn't seem to quite make it from the page to his eyes. Instead, he was thinking about what Serra had said, how he was always supporting everyone in his life. He thought about how nice it felt to have an evening to himself, and wondered if he should feel guilty for enjoying his solitude.

But, taking a breath, he smiled. He may not have been the most social member of their army, but he was far from a recluse, too. He'd been helping others, as Serra had said, for a long time. Whenever someone needed him, he was there. But right now, nobody did; and until they needed him again, he was going to enjoy a quiet evening and a good book.

He focused once more on the page, pushed the image of Serra's smiling face from his mind for the time being, and began to read.

* * *

**Author's note: Marius Sidorov is a hard guy to shop for, so to speak. But, after looking at his own work and preferences and trying to merge them with my own style, I think I've come up with something at least adequate. I just wish I had more free time to do the concept justice; Marius and Oswin both deserve better. Happy Holidays, everyone!**


End file.
